


Fire is Her Water

by AntipodeanPixie



Series: Dissonant Verses [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:15:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3411974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntipodeanPixie/pseuds/AntipodeanPixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Adventures of Warden Amry (and the unlucky bastards following her)</p><p>Just the usual things to expect during a Blight. Insane mages, warhounds with a taste for cheese, a fowl destroyer, and everyone's favourite Stupid Little Brother Replacement.<br/>Alistair: Heyy! :C</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Leaving Fort Drakkon.

**Author's Note:**

> This is in no particular order, and will jump around as I write. It is a series of observations, headcanons and reactions to ingame events. There will probably be a number of spoilers, so I don't particularly suggest reading these works if such things are an issue for you.
> 
> This series gets an automatic rating of Teen and Up simply because it's Dragon Age, which has all sorts of nasties both explicit and implied. With the presence of my Warden, it hits up to M because she drops swears like a storm drops rain.

Amry's eyes opened and she squinted at the stone ceiling and took inventory. Her head ached, as did her left hip and elbow, and her entire back was cold from lying on stone. Naked. Urgh. She closed her eyes again, and sent a green wash of healing magic through her body. Feeling considerably better she sat up and saw Alistair lounging in the other corner.

"You're awake! I was beginning to get slightly worried. Guards are terrible conversationalists you know."

"Alistair. I'm not wearing clothes. You're not wearing clothes. Also, you have an egg on your head." Amry told him, rolling to her feet and padding over to her companion. "Sit still." She healed him, watching the livid bruise and the swelling under it reduce. Amry sighed and looked around, hands on her hips and looking very much like an annoyed housewife rather than an imprisoned 'traitor'. It was a dungeon. From the sound and smell of it, the kind that had lovely torture equipment too. Their cell was more of a cage, with only one solid wall. Great, nearly every guard who walked through here had probably seen her nearly naked. That was supposed to be a Zevran only treat.

"There's a guard over there. Maybe we can get out," Alistair suggested, and Amry looked at him thoughtfully. Speaking of Zevran only treats...

___________________________________________________________________

"I'm lonely," Amry put on her best pout, lower lip sticking out invitingly as she dropped her chin, batting big eyes at the guard, hip popped. Alistair watched in shock as the guard slipped into their cell, shutting the door behind him.

Amry sauntered up to him, meekly laying hands on his shoulders. "Why don't you take all this off so we can get started?" She asked, trailing fingers down his pauldrons and onto his arms. Amazingly, the guard complied, stripping off his armour and ending up in nothing but his helmet in short order, muttering about the buckles. Amry blinked coquettishly up at him, and then her hand moved so fast Alistair barely saw it and he was watching. The guard slammed back against the door and slid down with a wet smear, Amry immediately rifling through his discarded armour.

"Word of advice darling, never get in a cell with a naked mage."

"I'll try to remember that," Alistair muttered, rolling the corpse out of the way of the door. Amry straightened, twirling the key around one finger.

"Tadaa!" she sang, and opened the lock. "Always keep a pretty lady on your team, Alistair."

"What, am I not pretty? Anyway, let's see if we can find our gear so we're not running around starkers."

"Great plan, what little tits I have are gonna freeze off."

____________________________________________________________________

She looked at the armour on the stand. She looked at Alistair. She grinned and waggled her pointy ears. Alistair sighed and put the damn armour on.

___________________________________________________________________

 

When the officer hailed them, Alistair's heart just about stopped. And then he began ranting at them. Amry snapped into parade rest, nodding emphatically. "Yes sir. Sorry sir. Won't happen again sir."

As they scurried out of the office, Amry then proceeded to make them a pair of guard friends and sweet talk the quartermaster. Alistair leaned in to murmur as they left, "Y'know what, you are terrifying. I'm glad you're my friend and just use that cunning to prank me."


	2. Caught a Crow

Perhaps the first thought Zevran had on waking, was that somebody had a very nice pair of legs. The leggings really didn't hide much at all, whilst covering everything. Then his gaze continued up and his mind helpfully remembered just who those legs were attached to. The Grey Warden. Whom he'd just failed to kill. Yes, that would be his team, bleeding over there and possibly the bits off to the side. Which he was probably going to join.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

She was merciful, and somehow that stuck in him, like a frustrating splinter. Not exactly painful, but irksome. Still, she had a pretty face, -great- legs and he very much preferred being alive in her service to being dead by her hand or Crows. Perhaps she was a fool, but at this moment she was a fool in his favour.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Zevran took it back. Amry Surana was as far from a fool as you could get. She knew she had wide eyes and a soft face, petite physique. And she used it ruthlessly, batting her eyelashes, nodding along, letting bandits, demons and allies alike think they had drawn her into their fold before burning them from the inside out. She was tart and sweet and wise and innocent, and he wasn't sure that in all the interesting people he'd met, made love to and killed over the years that he'd ever met her like. Colour him intrigued, but he wanted to pry out more about this little enigma, this fellow elf.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

He offered her companionship, boldly approaching her after she'd given him so many gifts, all of them artless.

"Antivan brandy?" She'd offered, holding the bottle out to him. "I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have the first idea how to drink it properly, and you said you missed home." Similarly, the gloves, gifted to him in an abstract moment because something he'd said had stuck in her mind.  
He wasn't the only one who received her generosity, and if he wanted to get a look in before Leiliana's brimming emotions broke into the open, he'd need to move a little quickly.  
The cock of her head, so like a bird, as she blinked at him once. "Are you suggesting what I think you are?" she'd asked, honest curiosity. He'd elaborated his offer. She'd hedged, suddenly shy. He'd seen her bathe without thought, stripping to her smalls (very cute ones he might add) and she had always seemed so fearless. Suspicions rising, he'd pressed her gently. She'd acquiesced.

He'd been careful. Fiercely passionate, but not unduly rough. In her hesitance at where to place her hands, her enthusiastic following of his lead, he understood precisely. A pause. "You do not mind giving yourself, this time, to an Antivan Crow, son of a Dalish whore?" he'd asked, teasing but giving her an out. She'd paused, eyed him thoughtfully.

"If you don't mind a chick out of her nest and out of her depth, why not? At least you know what you're doing." a touch of the flirtatious then. Nervous, but not scared. When they lay together afterwards, she tipped her chin on her hands, watching him while draped against his side.  
"Less frightening than I thought. Rather like my Harrowing." she'd remarked, and he'd clicked his tongue in disbelief. "No really. One of those "If I'd known how it worked before hand, I'd have reckoned it'd be nothing I couldn't handle." Although this finished way more pleasantly. I didn't have to explode anything."

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

He asked her once, if she found his past loves and murders disturbing. She'd given him an even look. "I knew when I took you on that you were a Crow. I don't expect you to be chaste or to have never killed anything larger than a flea. Do you find what I do and have done disturbing? I've exploded people into little bits. Helped a bloodmage. Fought demons and darkspawn directly in their home. But you don't find it disturbing when I play with your braids and kiss you. Just don't fuck around on me and don't kill me, and I won't explode you into bits or feed you to a demon."

"A fair trade, my warden."

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taleisin came for him, and he did not expect her fire. She strode between them, dark eyes blazing, grey hair bristling slightly from what may have been an excess of magic and emotion. "Well, I'd have to be dead for that to happen." she'd said, fearless, chin tipped up and fingers tight on her staff. He felt a surge somewhere deep in his chest, an explosion of love that overtook his previous adoration for her and even his love for Rinna, Maker rest her.  
"And that, I cannot allow." he responded, sliding his daggers free.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They stood over his body, and Amry leaned her side into him, pressing her face briefly against his shoulder. "I know the feeling," she murmured.  
"Oh? This is common in Antiva. Most people you know will either kill you, or be killed by you, or at the least make an effort. It is just one of the parts of being a Crow." he'd tried to redirect, rebuff and diminish. She'd fixed him with that disturbingly canny kind look she had.  
"There's somebody I sent to the gallows. I spared him twice previous. We shared a dorm and workspace once. He was one of my oldest friends." He nodded slightly, a crooked cant to his smile.  
"I was more right than you realised, when I said we came from similar backgrounds."

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He'd offered her the earring, and she'd gotten up and left. Not a word, leaving him sitting dumb by the fireside. His throat twisted, his heart fell into his frozen guts. To have come so far, and have failed the hard taught professionalism he once possessed, to have this ridiculous mage child spurn a gift from him when he wasn't even sure she had the faintest notion of what it meant to him.... she plopped beside him again at the fire side, holding something out to him. "Here, I got this from Wynne." It was a needle and she promptly turned her head for him, presenting her throat.  
"And what, precisely, am I to do with this?" he enquired, not taking the needle, tone a little sharp.  
"I can't wear your token if there's no hole in my ear to put it in," she said patiently. "I can't do it myself easily, and it seemed most appropriate to ask you to do it."

Suddenly her behaviour made shining sense and he swallowed hard, taking the needle from her.  
"And you would trust the Crow with sharp things near your person?" he asked, trying to cover up the sudden heated turmoil in him as he examined her presented ear. She had nice earlobes.  
"Well, I let your tongue and daggers near me," she said with a bright smile. "I'm sure letting you stab a needle through my ear won't be too unbearable."

For the next few days her ear was bright red around the new piece of jewellery, and then he suspected Wynne got a hold of her to heal it properly since caring for a new piercing was difficult in their current arrangements. It gave him no end of satisfaction that she never removed it, never mind that it looked odd to see a woman with just one earring.


	3. Ostagar Burning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this just shot up in rating like woah. Amry's first universe isn't Dragon Age, so I really should have known before bringing her in that she would swear just as much as, if not more than, Sera.

"Sweet Maker, why are you so SLOW?" Amry demanded, scuttling back along the parapet to haul Alistair to his feet, an insistent buzzing whine at the back of her head making her short tempered.

"Oh I'm sorry, being hit by grapeshot tends to slow a body down!" Alistair retorted, stumbling to his feet. Amry shot him with some healing magic and hauled, the pair of them finally reaching the right side of the bridge.

"Yeah well let's get our asses up there." Amry groused, still panting slightly to catch her breath. Circle life did not prepare her for this nug-shit.

"Help! The tower's been overrun!" somebody yelled, and a mage and soldier pair came hurtling down the stairs to meet them. "You're Grey Wardens, right? There's been an attack, they came from nowhere-"

Amry grabbed the panicking mage by the shoulders. "Calm down! Are you or are you not a mage? What's some darkspawn to demon nightmares, huh?" She looked over her shoulder at Alistair and jerked her head. "C'mon, both of you with us. That beacon doesn't go up, we're all screwed."

She managed to drag the mage with her a few feet, hearing Alistair cajoling the soldier into joining them. "C'mon, we can't let a pair of dresses be braver than us, can we?" She made a note to find something unpleasant and put it in either his boots or his helmet. Except the idiot didn't wear one. After they slew their next round of darkspawn she yanked a helmet off one and shoved it on Alistair's head, having to stand on tip toe.

"What's thi- oh Maker, it -smells-!" he protested.

"Yeah, but it'll keep your pretty face pretty, instead of run through with arrows and swords and shit." Amry said sternly, tugging on the chin strap of her own badly fitting leather helm. It had a suspicious blood stain at the nape that she was decidedly not talking about.

Fighting their way in was a little bit of a mess, but thankfully they managed to save a few soldiers. Not that they were much help as they promptly all fell back. Amry growled and blew a lock of grey hair out of her face. "Y'know what, I think we got the only two with guts," she grumbled. Pushing open a door cautiously, she came face to face with a troupe of darkspawn and promptly shut it again. "NOPE." she stated, backing up swiftly. "Somebody else with shiny armour can stand between me and that."

"Meaning me. Why do I get the feeling you see me as a living shield?" Alistair groused, hefting said arm and moving in front of her and the other mage.

"Look on the bright side, Alistair. I had the best aim in my class." The door yanked open and a fireball flew past Alistair's ear to strike a Hurlock in the face. "See!"

"THAT WAS MY EAR!" he hollered, bashing the Hurlock for good measure with his shield.

"You don't even use it!" Amry shot back, ducking an arrow.

"So how long have you two been married?" asked the soldier drily.

"Oh, this is our honeymoon!" Alistair quipped cheerfully.

"I just so love a good darkspawn fight with my darling new husband!" Amry chirped, darting in front of the melee fighters and doing something twisty with her hands. Fire erupted in a cone in front of her, resulting in flailing toasty darkspawn.

When they found the giant hole in the ground floor by the stairwell, Amry leaned over the edge of it curiously. Alistair was investigating the demonstrative mess the darkspawn had made of the defenders while the mage threw up in the corner.

"That's a lot of blood," he mentioned, and Amry hummed in agreement.

"They sure like to make a statement. And this is how they got in. Wonder where it leads," she commented, before Alistair grabbed the back of her robe in a gauntlet and towed her back towards the stairs.

"Quit that, you're making me nervous."

"What, think I'd fall? Or that I'd somehow jinx us and get more darkspawn up here?" she asked, finally righting herself.

"Speaking of that, there shouldn't BE any darkspawn, not here and this far ahead of the horde." he said, sounding unusually thoughtful.

"You could try telling them they're in the wrong place," Amry suggested facetiously, lighting up her staff so they could see the room better.

"Oh I'm sure this is all just a big misunderstanding. We'll laugh about this later," he responded with a dry roll of his eyes.

"Who knows. Maybe they had spies, knew we'd be up here doing Important Things. Maybe they just got imagination."

"Ugh, Maker, don't. Thought makes me feel more ill than the bodies." begged the soldier. The mage looked like he'd agree.

Finally gaining another floor, Amry took what had become her default position of poking her head through the door to see what was going on as bait and then legging it behind Alistair and the soldier. No sooner had she done that then she had vanished through the doorway with a cry of "Puppies!". Alistair chased after her to see a particularly nasty looking Hurlock along with a handful of Genlocks. He was just bringing up his shield to charge when three warhounds leapt on the Hurlock followed by Amry whooping. "PUPPIES!"

"Maker she is INSANE!" the poor mage gasped, looking rather pale. Alistair really hoped he wasn't going to faint.

"Exactly! A fine Grey Warden recruit," Alistair riposted, engaging a genlock. Nasty little buggers, would take you out at the knees.

"Alistair," Amry mentioned as they climbed the last flight of stairs. "Shouldn't there be people waiting up here already, with the beacon? We should have come across somebody alive or fighting or something by now."

"Y'know, I'm not s-shit!" Amry stared wide-eyed at the monster. She'd gotten used to the darkspawn, almost. Ugly and all, smelled awful, but were manageable. That... she sidestepped behind Alistair. That was a good deal bigger than what she'd seen thus far, and it was making suspicious crunching sounds while something dripped. Was that? Ok. It just dropped a boot. Amry was glad she'd stuffed the end of bread she'd found further down the tower into her pocket rather than her face, otherwise she'd probably throw it up.

It looked up, and then around. Amry was reminded of a drawing she'd seen in one of the Circle books, but dismissed the memory for later. It was big. It was scarred. It looked like a party she didn't want an invitation to.

"Whatever you do," Alistair said lowly, lowering into a battle crouch. "Don't let it get a hold of you." The ogre roared and broke the spell of temporary awe over Amry. 

"Alistair, smash its face in, soldier, follow his directions." Amry said quick and clear. "Other mage, you run around the left side of the room, I'll take right. Stay on the opposite side from me, try to stay on its shoulder. We'll keep it distracted between us, but the melee won't be in the way." 

"Right. FOR THE GREY WARDENS!" Alistair yelled and charged, bashing his shield into the thing's gut before skidding several feet as it slammed a fist into his shield. Amry was moving faster than him, already sniping magic at it before she stopped on the other side. The soldier got a solid hit in on the beast's leg, and she could see the other mage charging up something promising. 

And then things fell apart real fast. The ogre swung one giant hand around, catching the unlucky soldier. "STAB HIS HAND!" Alistair yelled before the ogre pivoted on one foot and slammed the soldier into the ground. From the crunching jammy sound he made and the rapidly spreading pool of blood, he wouldn't be getting up again. Alistair smashed it in the head with his shield and followed up with a heavy strike of his sword, but the beast shook its head at the stunning blow and caught the blade on its horns. Shaken off kilter and angry, the ogre looked up and saw only the mage. Its heels dug in.   
"MOVE!" Amry shrieked at the mage who fumbled his spell just as the ogre barrelled forwards. He flew off its horns and into the wall with another sickening crunch. If Amry never heard that sound again in her life it would be too soon. 

"Alistair," she called, and he took blessed charge. "Get behind it! Freeze it, slow it, anything you can!" the older warden yelled, then took another swing at its knees. The beast dodged and was coming in for another hit when it suddenly slowed like it was trying to move through treacle. Alistair cut across the belly, grimacing as hot tainted blood spray across his armour. It roared in pain before halting partway through, the head frozen solid. Taking his chance, he flung his shield up as hard as he possibly could and the ogre's head shattered, the whole body collapsing. 

"Maker's fucking ass what IS that?" Amry demanded. 

"It was an ogre. Nasty things, usually only seen during a Blight," Alistair said, casting around. "There's the beacon!" Amry scuttled over to it, shoving a flaming hand in. The oil drenched wood went up promptly, and Amry joined Alistair at the window. 

"HAH!" she shouted in triumph. "Suck on that ya pox-ridden bastards!" 

"Creative thing aren't you?" Alistair said, squinting down through the rain at the torches. "Wait a minute.. Why isn't Loghain charging?"

"Which lights are his? I can't tell a thing from up here," Amry asked, her face matching Alistair's in screwed up confusion. "Wait, is that hi--- is he -fucking off mid battle-?!" 

There wasn't long to ponder though as an arrow whistled past her ear and she spun to the godawful chirping grunt THING sound darkspawn made. The next three shafts found her chest and she crumpled in shock, the clang of armour as Alistair landed next to her.


	4. Of Knives and Beds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussions of blood play within.

"Zev?" she asked as they retired to their tent one evening. Technically Amry's, for the past two months Zevran's bedroll had been reliably set out in it.

"Si, Amore?" he asked, stripping down to his smalls as Amry swapped her armour for a loose shift. "something on your mind?"

She lounged on their combined bedrolls, her chin propped in her hands as she looked at him. "You said you like the feeling of killing. Of sliding your blades into someone, holding their life in your hands, and then executing them, swift and easy as they collapse at your feet."

"Yeess?" he singsonged, turning to lay himself beside her, stretched out invitingly.

"Do you ever bring shades of that into bed? Without actually killing somebody? Do you ever want to use your blades on me?"

Cold water doused over his brain just as hot fire roared in his belly. "Ah, excuse me?"

"Do you ever want to cut me while making love?" she asked, looking far too calm for what they were talking about as she continued watching him. Maker preserve him that look! She was casually asking him about one of the more twisted parts of his heart, looking for all the world like she was asking about which cloud he thought looked like a rabbit.

"I... do you know what you are asking, amore? that... that is not a -safe- thing to do, and there's... I could not harm you, my Warden. That is not-"

She leaned over to slide a hand past his braid and into the hair at the base of his skull, licking soft into his mouth as a small desperate groan eeked out. His body couldn't resist, arm snaking around her to pull her to him. Did she not know what asking did to him? Did she not realise the dangerous line she was walking? Probably not. She had been sheltered in the Circle, untouched before him. Did she simply not realise that what she asked was not considered normal behaviour? She pulled back and he wanted to protest. If her mouth was not on his, then she would be talking, and knowing her the damned woman would want to talk about uncomfortable topics.

"I'm just asking Zevran, yes or no, is it something you do?"

"Damn you woman, -yes-!" he hissed through his teeth. "I have carved thin lines into my lovers to spill their blood and hold their lives in my hands, and it makes it all the sweeter to me. Is that what you wanted to know?"

"Some of." He had a feeling he knew where this might be going and tried to roll away. But she rolled with him, and sat herself atop him, and he knew that she'd be able to feel a certain... interest in proceedings. "Ok. Do you ever want to do that to me?" He froze, unable to lie to her face like this, unwilling to admit the desires. "I guess so. How does that work?"

"You are not disturbed, mi amore? Disturbed that I would want to taste your blood as well as your lips? That I would think of turning my not inconsiderable skills with a blade on your skin?"

"Not really?" she asked, and he blinked at her in shock. She trailed fingers over his chest, suddenly shy. "I... like the idea. Trade you, embarrassment for embarrassment?"

"I am hardly embarrassed, merely concerned."

"I want to use my magic on you." He blinked up at her, raising an eyebrow.

"That could be interesting indeed, mi amore."

"I'm serious. I'd... like to try small sparks on you, little lightning kisses. And... with my magic, I could hold you down. Do what I like, and you'd not be able to budge to stop me. No ropes, no chains, just force of will pinning you."

"So in a way, my life would also be in your hands, as with one stray thought you could crush me into a sadly less handsome version of myself."

"Wellll" Amry draped herself over him, chin propped in hands as she pressed warm and soft along the length of him. "Let's not kid ourselves. I could kill you any time, and you certainly don't need a blade in your hand to kill me. Let's think of it as a little less running the risk of killing each other, a little more exciting ways to get each other off, mm?"

"Woman, you spoil me," Zevran said, rolling them over so that he could pepper little kisses along her tattooed chin. "I will have to think on the matter. Much as it would excite me, there is a way to doing it properly. But for tonight, we shall have to content ourselves with other endeavours."

Amry let him, smiling up at him, mouth impish and eyes soft. "Alright. You choose when. But if it takes more than two weeks before the subject comes up again, I'm calling foul."

"Oh, I'll have you calling far more by the time I'm finished with you," he promised in a low croon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody can listen to Zevran talk about how he gets a huge kick out of his work when he holds somebody's life in his hands and decides what to do with it without considering if the kinky bastard takes it into sex.


	5. Bad Blood

He did not quite know why, but their fair and fearless leader was in a snit. It started some time around mid-afternoon, when Alistair had taken a rather nasty cut to the head. As Wynne reached to touch it, to check for anything other than what appeared to be a simple cut, Amry had cut her off.

"Hang on Wynne, I'll sort this one. You take a potion, that was pretty intense and I'm pretty sure I can feel something coming over the rise."

Her smile was clipped, while Alistair seemed to release a tension he was holding at Wynne touching him. Zevran's quick eyes had noted it and wondered. Wynne was a capable healer. Why would Amry not allow her to tend Alistair's wounds. Especially when her reason had turned out to be a blatant lie. There was nothing over the rise, nothing at all until they made camp.

 

She was quiet and terse throughout the evening meal, retiring early and leaving the others to shift for themselves. Zevran idly cleaned his blades in the fire light, had a nip of brandy, and then followed her. Time to see what was eating at his paramour. She was sitting on her bedroll in her shift, picking at her toes. Never a good sign when she did that. He set his things down and rolled his shoulder, before slinking over to her in a crouch in deference to the tent's low ceiling. His nose trailed along her shoulder before full lips pressed a dry kiss to her neck and she sighed.

But not the right kind of sigh. Exasperation rather than contentment.

"Something is troubling you, amore." he observed, letting her choose her response.

"Zev. Remember how we discussed me, your knives, our bed?" she asked, still staring at her toes, although she left them alone to lean into him.

"Yes, it is still on my mind," he answered cautiously. "You are... feeling impatient?"

"No, I'm feeling pissed," she responded flatly. "Because I just remembered we can't do that, ever."

"Oh?" Zevran hazarded, feeling discomfort at her tone. Something was clearly wrong, but he wasn't sure why. "And why can we not? You sound very certain."

"Because I'm a Warden. Part of the process makes you somewhat immune to the Blight. So we can fight Darkspawn without dropping like flies. But it also kinda makes our blood very dangerous to get on you."

"Is that why you refused to allow our dear Wynne of the magical bosoms to heal our bastard friend?" He asked, shifting to regard her with lidded eyes, reading her expressions. She seemed... heavily put out. Almost sulky.

"Yeah. I'm already a Warden, so it makes no difference to me. But Wynne really shouldn't be putting her hands in either of our bloods. It also means that getting my blood everywhere during sex is... really not a good idea."

"So your blood would poison me? As effective as the Blight itself if I were to run my tongue through it?" Zevran asked, the notion novel to him. He'd known Wardens were dangerous, but he hadn't thought them borderline poisonous.

"Yes. And the death would be slow and nasty, with not much left of you by the end." she said, curiously calm. Then her arms came up, wrapping tight around Zevran's torso as she pressed her face hard to the crook of his neck. "And that is something I never want to happen."

Her voice was small, the press of her arms tight and the grip of her hands on his shirt near bloodless. At that moment a thought came to Zevran, not like a lightning bolt from a blue sky, a stunning blow from thunder or even the crash of the ocean waves on the shores of Antiva City. This was more like a blade so sharp as to be soft as it slid through his ribs and into his heart. She was scared.

His fearless Warden who regarded Shale with simple curiosity, Morrigan with sisterly affection and the Blight with charming disdain, was scared. The kind of deep rooting gnawing fear, like a small child afraid of the dark. Afraid of losing him. It was something... something he could understand. Something that sang to a companion terror in him. He gently lay her down on the bed roll, just managing to tug his shirt off so that he and Amry pressed together with nothing but his smalls and her shift between them. She continued to press close and he let her, rolling over her to cover her. His body draped easily over hers, her arms looped around him and his hands curled about her shoulders, slightly shifted to the side so that she easily breathed past his throat.

"I challenge any to take me from you," he murmured, voice rich in the dark. "Even your darkspawn blood." Her chest finally compressed, the tight breath released in a soft sigh as he felt her relax for the first time that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anybody who got a little worried at this detail, remembering how anybody who's not a Cousland gets Dog, rest assured. I couldn't let everyone's favourite Antivan die such a painful and inglorious death.


	6. Men, Women and War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK ANY TRANS READERS!  
> Discussions herein on gender identity, assignation and expression. If this is a delicate topic for you, please read with caution. Sten has very fixed ideas on gender, while Amry's got zip education on trans individuals having never met any herself. She's got all the foot in mouth well meaning that flies completely under the radar when there's no educated/trans folk about.

"Why are you here?" The abrupt question startled Amry a little and she rocked back onto her haunches to look up and up and up at Sten from where she was mending her trousers, determined to learn how to do it herself rather than constantly bugging Wynne. 

"You'll need to be a bit more specific about what you mean by 'here', Sten."

"Women are artisans, or merchants. Or farmers. They have no place in war." he said with stone-strong conviction. Amry raised an eyebrow at him, sticking her needle in the fabric and setting the mending job aside. 

"Well, I'm obviously here, kicking ass and taking names. So's the other three women in this group, four if you count Shale. Are female combatants not a thing for the Qunari?" she inquired. Anybody else would have been made to eat dirt for that comment, but she had a soft spot for Sten and his Qun-particular oddities. 

"Of course not. Why would our women wish to be men?" he responded with his own question. Amry cocked her head in confusion, peering at him. 

"Ok Sten, sit down. I think we're having one of those culture mismatch moments." She tapped her fingers against her shins, eying him critically as he followed her suggestion and folded himself into a seated position on the ground. "You think I want to be a man?" 

"You cannot wish to be a man. It will only lead you to frustration." Sten responded, light eyes implacable.

"Ok, but I'm not a man."

"Then why do you fight?" 

Amry held her hand up for a moment and Sten waited as she rolled the conversation around in her mind. 

"I think we're missing a few cognitive jumps here. So if somebody wishes to fight, that makes them male to Qunari?"

"Yes. War is a place for men, not women." Sten repeated, and she could tell he was getting frustrated by her. 

"And if a Qunari who has... breasts and a womb and everything, wants to fight, that makes them male?"

"Yes, if they are sincere and dedicated in their wish, and display the aptitude for it." Sten acknowledged, and Amry smiled crookedly. That was her out then, bitty thing that she was. 

"Ok, humans don't work like that. If you have a female body, you're a female. Done and dusted. There you go. If you have a penis, you're a man. Whether you fight shit or grow shit doesn't change it."

"That does not make sense. Why would you wish to do something you have no aptitude for?" Sten asked, frown impressive even for him. Amry tapped her toes against the ground. 

"Sten, we don't have the luxury of specialization. We do what we can, and what we have to, when we have to. If there were any other Wardens in Fereldan, they'd be doing this job, not me and Alistair. If we had another excellent healing Mage I'd pack Wynne off home, she's too old for this shit."

"That is true. You are a woman, both you and the other Warden are young and untrained. Wynne is at an age better suited for teaching. The Qun would not permit this misuse of service." Sten sounded satisfied and frustrated in equal measure, possibly at Amry's acknowledgement of his concerns and refusal to do anything about it. 

"That's what's handy about us Southerners. We grab whatever's to hand and we make do. You're telling me a Qunari woman would never fight for her home and life if she had to? If somebody's got a weapon, they can use, and they want to turn it on your enemies? Fereldans don't say no. Andraste toppled an empire. Women today are no less powerful than her."

"A Qunari woman would not be left in such a vulnerable position," Sten argued, head dipping. "For that to happen, the Antaam would have to fail." 

"Unlikely, but if it does happen, our theoretical Qunari lady is shit out of luck. You can have specialisation or adaptability, Sten. Not both. Humans have gone for the latter rather than the former. Same as elves. Dwarves are more like the Qunari, although their specialisation is by caste rather than sex." Amry picked up her mending. "I wouldn't worry about it too much, whether it's wrong or right or makes sense. It's at most a temporary annoyance for you to deal with."


	7. Flemeth

Amry squinted her eyes open. It was an unfamiliar ceiling. There had been far too many of those, since she left the Circle. And ugh, her boob ached. Except. It wasn't her boob. It had been an arrow wound, she'd felt the bloody thing punch into her.

Amry sat up to squint around the hut, seeing the woman from earlier. Morrigan, her mind supplied.

"Ah, so your eyes finally open. Mother will be pleased," Morrigan drawled as she sashayed over to the bed side.

Amry reflexively looked down, still expecting holes in her. But no, she was whole, and also in her smalls still. She put her feet on the floor, flexing them experimentally.

"I seem to distinctly remember being shot a few times, by very angry darkspawn, on top of a tower." Amry looked up at the witch. "That's a fair ways away from here, I'm guessing."

"True. It appears you don't remember then? Mother rescued you and your friend, the dim-witted suspicious one."

"Thank the Maker for that. Now what happened?" Amry asked.

"The man who was to answer your signal quit the field. Your army was massacred. I do not think you would want to see what is happening in that valley now." Morrigan's voice almost sounded kind, or at least as kind as Amry had yet seen the prickly young woman. Amry's stomach turned.

"No, I very much wouldn't. I've already seen it on a small scale." She rubbed her face briefly. "I take it this is your home? It reminds me of the outside shape of it."

"Yes."

"And the darkspawn?"

"Mother's magic keeps the darkspawn away." With the easy confidence Morrigan spoke with, it was no trouble to believe her. Amry looked up over her linked fingers, eyeing Morrigan shrewdly.

"And precisely how did your aged mother manage to drag myself and Alistair alive, off that tower, mid darkspawn attack?"

"She turned into a giant bird and plucked you from atop the tower, one in each talon." Morrigan said airily. Amry raised a sardonic eyebrow at her, turning her chin slightly. "Well, if you truly wish to know, you'd better ask her yourself. Your clothing is in the chest at the foot of the bed."

Amry gave up on getting a straight answer out of Morrigan whom she could already tell got a kick out of being contrary, and checked the chest. Her robes, lovely, her staff propped against the foot, and...

"Aww, you even repaired it!" Amry said, wiggling a finger at the patches on her chest and ribs. Yanking her boots on, she followed Morrigan outside to find Alistair nervously pacing by the pond.

"And here is your fellow Grey Warden," Flemeth said, and Alistair whirled around, eyes fixing on her.

"You're alive, you- I thought I was the only one!" he exclaimed, and the look on his face. Amry sighed.

"I did not come through every demon just to get knocked off by some darkspawn." she told him, striding up to him to poke him in the breastplate. He looked a bit shocked.

"No, I suppose not," he managed, and Amry softened.

"Oi, c'mere," she said and reached up to grab the sides of his face and pull him down to rest on her shoulder. "Listen, we're gonna be ok. We might have been betrayed and abandoned, and lost everyone else," his shoulders heaved a little in a sob and his arms wound about her. "But we're -alive-. We're alive, we know what happened, and we're Grey Wardens. We're gonna come out of this on top."

"I-I guess you're right, but what do we do now?" Alistair asked, straightening and wiping his cheeks.

"We kill that fucking archdemon. And then we go find Loghain and string him up like the gutless asshole he is." Amry said with determination.

"What, by ourselves?"

"Well, we're Grey Wardens, aren't we? I thought killing Archdemons is what we do."

"No Grey Warden has ever defeated a blight without the armies of half a dozen nations at their back."

"Well don't we have allies? What about those treaties we got?" Amry asked. Alistair lit up.

"You're right! They've sworn to help the Grey Wardens!"

"I might just be a foolish old woman, but this all sounds to me like you have an army," Flemeth commented, eyes watching them sharply.

"Yeah, we just might. Provided we can actually hit em hard enough with those treaties to make them move their asses," Amry hummed.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Not even an hour later, they were tromping out of the wilds as three rather than two, Flemeth having pressed her daughter on them. Amry didn't mind. Morrigan seemed like fun, and while she didn't know about Alistair, Amry had absolutely no survival skills whatsoever. She sat close to Morrigan and watched her with every intention of learning.

"You stare a great deal. Have you never been outside of your Circle prison before?"

"This is my second week of freedom, give or take." Amry responded, paying the prickliness of Morrigan no mind. She'd put up with worse cranky asses in the Circle.

"Then you are quite helpless, are you not?" Morrigan asked airily, stacking wood to make a fire as she lit the kindling underneath. Alistair was sitting nearby looking pensive and like it would take a brick to the head to bring him back to the world of the living. Amry let him be.

"Pretty much. Can't cook, can't make a fire like that. Do you always start with the little bits?" Amry asked, shuffling round on her haunches to peer at Morrigan's work.

"Yes. If the wood is too large, then the flame will not catch. It needs to grow before it can feed on greater fuel." Morrigan told her. Amry trailed her about like a small, inquisitive duckling, sharp eyes taking in everything the other woman did.

Morrigan would not admit it, but it gave her a flare of pride, having this elf so clearly acknowledge her superiority in survival, while also being determined to learn from her with a minimum of mewling and whining. So much better than the dim suspicious one who was currently moping fit to beat the darkspawn, if looking sad and kicked were an effective measure against them.

From the moment that she'd greeted Morrigan civilly and politely in the old ruins, the witch of the wilds had liked her, and at this rate she might just keep liking her. Shame about the whingey one.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now they had a dog. Suddenly she liked the elf a whole lot less. Amry had been delighted when it showed up, squealing "Puppy!" at it and hugging the damn flea infested thing before it alerted them to the darkspawn that had followed it. At least Alistair had perked up a little at the dog. Even if he was still the dumbest one in the party. The dog watched her with far too much canny intelligence for her liking. The elf seemed to take to sleeping with the stupid mutt, curled up with her head on its flank and its own muzzle resting on her thigh. Still, at least it shared game and it was somewhat useful in fights.


	8. Country Towns

"How do bandits even set up this bloody close to a town, right fucking there?" Amry demanded as Alistair made an approving noise at a scavenged blade. "I mean damn, it's not like it'd take five minutes to come shoo them off." Morrigan simply shrugged, disdain on her face.

"Perhaps they are more cowardly than previously thought, these villagers." The way she said 'villagers' dripped disdain, as if they were on a level with roaches. Given the propensity of both for urban environments, she probably wasn't wrong in Morrigan's estimation of them. Amry's eyes were distracted by a glint of shinier metal and cloth, crouching down by one of the bandit's victims, left to be an intimidation ploy against any plucky refugees.

"Oh hey, this is a Templar," Amry said, eyes wide. All her life, Templars had been a vaguely menacing source of authority. It was weird to see one... dead. Sprawled like a rabbit Osta the Mabari had found and then grown tired of. ("We can't seriously call him Osta!" Alistair had protested. "Hey, this way he can only get better.")

"And now, he is dead." Morrigan observed blandly. Amry crouched by him to poke him. Mages might not ever have families, but that didn't mean Templars didn't. She was distracted by his locket and removed it. It looked like the kind of identifiable thing that somebody would want back, and she couldn't very well cart him with her. They continued onto the steps before Alistair came to life for the first time since leaving the Wilds.

"We need a plan."  
_________________________________________________________________________________

In the end, the plan was relatively simple. On learning where Loghain was most likely to be, Amry determined to be anywhere BUT there. They had a list of treaties, and while Alistair firmly thought that they ought to call on Arl Eamon, Amry vetoed the idea.  
"We're the last living Wardens out of Ostagar. I can tell you right now, we are the LAST people Loghain wants to hear of as alive, and we're also the last people who ought to go marching around telling folk who we are. We don't know which end of this board Eamon is on right now, so let's just shelve that for now."

Morrigan wanted to just go kill Loghain. Given that they were a party of three with little idea of what they were doing, Amry immediately squelched the idea. "A lone wolf does not try to fight a bear. We're going to need allies for that."

In the end, they ambled into the town trying to look as unsuspicious as possible. This failed with the first farmer they met, who eyed them contemplatively.

"You don't look Chasind, or like a refugee" he remarked, with the kind of weary hostility that came with far too many visitors in too short a time frame without invitation. Before anybody else could get the bright idea to speak up, Amry smoothly slotted herself into the role of spokeswoman. 

"King's Army, actually" Amry lied, and the man snorted.

"Survivors or deserters then. Lucky you." he grumbled, and Amry could just feel the uneasy looks of Osta and Alistair behind her. 

"Ah, how long were the bandits out the front of the town?" Amry asked, and the farmer picked at his nails as he raised his eyebrows. 

"Were?"

"Yeah, we kind of killed them on the way in," Amry admitted. The man's face screwed up and he spat in the dirt. 

"Fucking bandits, at least they kept the bloody refugees out," he snarled, and Amry felt a flicker of surprise. 

"Charming habits. Almost makes me miss home," Amry said as she pivoted on her heel to stroll away. This looked utterly promising as they meandered through hastily pitched tents, wounded survivors and hungry looking refugees. Behind her she could hear Osta badgering Morrigan with overtures of friendship as she listened in on the tents and pallets as they passed. 

"Oh great, more warriors. Haven't we seen enough battle?"

"Hmph, hope they're not looking for a bed. Chantry and Inn are full up."

"It's been like this for the last two days. When are they going to move on?"

"Mum! MUM!" 

Amry paused when she saw elves. She so rarely saw them, aside from a handful in the tower, and she drifted over in interest. The family looked haggard, hungry, and didn't seem to have much with them.

"Spare any food, anything?" the father of the small family asked, eyes painfully hopeful even as his daughter's head tilted back listlessly to eye the strangers. They looked even worse off than the rest. 

"What happened to you?" she asked, and the man sighed. 

"Bandits on the way in took everything we have. We tried telling the Templars, but there's nothing they can do since the Bann marched north with Loghain Mac Tir and all his men," The man said. Amry leaned on her staff and then smiled toothily.

"Bandits, huh? Wouldn't be the ones on the bridge, would they? Because those ones are currently very dead, and if you're quick you might be able to get most of your stuff back," she advised, and saw the child's face light up. 

"Dead?" The man's wife asked, hand clutching her husband's arm. 

"Killed em myself," Amry confirmed, and turned to leave. "Can't have trash like that fouling up the country side."


	9. Recruitment

In a bid for more information, they came to the inn, and then the problems began to pile up with alarming swiftness.

"Looks like we got ourselves some Grey Wardens!" carolled a rat faced man with far too much swagger as a gaggle of fellows lurked at his elbows, all of them exuding bullying cockiness.

"Oh excellent, asshole couldn't remember his duty but he could remember us." Amry muttered before pasting a smile on her face. "Grey Wardens? Us? Maker no, we're just... irregulars. Not Wardens." 

A pretty redhead stepped up in the robes of a Chantry sister, trying to defuse the situation. Unfortunately not much could be done for the mess as the captain clipped out an order to kill everyone but her and Alistair in order to drag them off to Loghain. Amry couldn't really muster up the energy to pity them. The woman who came to their aid did a pretty number on their opponents, keeping up well. After the quick mess, Amry sheepishly apologising to the barkeep, the red head introduced herself.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So just why are you helping us, Leiliana?" Amry asked, head titled. The look that Leiliana gave her was utterly serene and self assured.

"The Maker told me to." The group went very silent.

"Alright," Amry said. One of Alistair's eyebrows and both of Morrigan's disappeared into their hairlines.

"Wait, so you believe her?" Alistair asked. Amry dropped her head back on her shoulders as she looked heavenward, like the patience to deal with the overgrown mabari was tacked onto the smoke stained ceiling of the tavern.

"Alistair, what do you dream about?" Amry asked patiently.

"Uuuh, stuff?" Alistair hedged and Amry rolled her head back on her neck to look at him, Leiliana unable to help thinking of both how easy it would be to kill her right then and also how kissable the elf's neck looked.

"Well I believe -you-, don't I?" she asked archly while Morrigan rolled her eyes at them both.

"Well yeees, but that's not really the same! You know it's real! You have them too!" Alistair said, reddening.

"So what if we're both batshit, huh? Give the lady some credit, she hasn't shanked any of us, and she's not gone for my throat either." Amry said, before turning to face them properly. "I'll cut you guys a deal. If it turns out she's too insane to be helpful, we leave her behind. Otherwise? She's handy. We're still like six armies down from what we need."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Amry stared up at the very large Qunari. At least, she thought he was. He wasn't speaking Common, in what appeared to be prayer. Although the fact that he did seem to be praying made her doubt herself, since as far as she could remember from books in the library, prayer wasn't a Qunari thing.

"Excuse me, Ser, are you a Qunari?" she asked, and Alistair choked behind her. 

"Maker, Amry, you can't just... go around asking people what they are!"

"Why not? I'm not sure, and assume makes an ass out of you and me." 

The giant stared at her impassively. "I will not amuse you any more than I have the humans. Leave me in peace."

Amry tilted her head at him again and Morrigan made a sound of bored disgust that had Osta vainly attempt to entertain her. At the very least she was distracted trying to dissuade him while the other three gathered.

"What did you do to get put in there?" Amry asked, face honest and open in her query.

"The Revered Mother said he slaughtered the entire family, even the children." Leiliana piped up, and Amry closed one eye in an odd sort of wince. 

"Ok, Lili, that's the kind of thing you tell me AFTER we give him a chance to lie."

"It is as she says. I am Sten of the Beresaad, the vanguard of the qunari peoples." he informed them evenly. Amry sketched a little bowing curtsey at him.

"I am Amry of the Grey Wardens. A pleasure to meet you," she said politely. The man's gaze remained stoney.

"You mock me. Or you show manners I have not come to expect in your lands."

"I find politeness is very heavily underrated," Amry acknowledged.

"It matters little now. I will die soon enough." He seemed stoic, and Amry propped her hands on her hips, sucking her top lip into her mouth and looking at him thoughtfully. 

"This is a proud and powerful creature, trapped as prey for the darkspawn," Morrigan began, taking a step and a half to stand by Amry, eyes fixed on the prisoner before sliding sideways to Amry. "If you cannot see a use for him, I suggest releasing him for mercy's sake alone." Amry could just about hear Alistair's eyes bugging out behind her.

"Mercy? I wouldn't have expected that from you." Alistair blurted, and Amry sighed, smacking her staff back and connecting with his thigh. 

"I would also suggest that Alistair take his place in the cage."

"Yes, that's what I would have expected," Alistair quipped and Amry took a slow deep breath. 

"I suggest you leave me to my fate."

Amry scrubbed her hand down her face. "Nobody is getting left in the fucking cage."

"But he killed people!" Alistair protested. 

"What exactly did you do?" Amry asked the warrior. Sten told her, simply, and she stared at him. "That's bloody awful!" she managed.

"I agree." She looked at him shrewdly. 

"How long have you been here?"

"20 days, more or less. I will last perhaps a week more."

"How did they even get hold of you to put you in there?"

"It is not difficult to capture prey that surrenders." Amry's eyebrows rose as she continued her quick questioning.

"You didn't resist?"

"I waited several days for the knights to arrive." he stated simply. 

"Why?"

"Because I wished to."

"Would you seek atonement?" Alistair made nope motions in the background that were completely ignored.

"Death will be my atonement."

"Atonement doesn't work like that." Amry said, voice and posture hardening a little. 

"Then what would your wisdom say is equal to my crime?" he asked, and Amry was pretty sure he was dissing her wisdom right then. She tipped her chin up and went for broke.

"Help me defend Thedas from the Blight." she said baldly. Sten showed surprise for the first time in their conversation.

"Blight? Then you are a Grey Warden." his gaze finally sharpened on her rather than lingering somewhere over her shoulder. 

"Yes, I am." Amry stated, brown gaze meeting violet unflinchingly.

"My people have heard legends of the Grey Warden's strength and skill... though I suppose not every legend is true." 

"Well. Looks like we're going to go tell the Cleric we're stealing her murdering Qunari to go die in a useful manner," Amry said with a sharp smile. If this guy was going to go giving her shit for being a small young elfy mage, she was going to show him the hard way. Dragging him assbackwards through brambles.


	10. Little Mysteries

Amry sat staring at the pair of dwarves over the fire. Leiliana shuffled over to sit next to her, leaning warm against her side. "Why are you staring at them?" she asked softly in her accent. Amry tipped her chin at Leiliana to acknowledge her presence, but remained watching the pair. 

"I'm curious," she said. "I've never really seen dwarves before. Since we don't get mage dwarves, and they're not Andrastian, we don't ever see them in the Circles."

"I imagine you must have seen a lot of new things since you left the Circle," Leiliana said, quietly winding her hand around Amry's. Amry let her, seeming utterly unconcerned. 

"Well, yes. I've seen a lot more blood, for starters. A lot more dirt. I finally know what a carrot in the ground looks like." 

Leiliana snorted and Alistair made some sort of odd amused hocking sound behind them. Amry rolled her eyes. She was probably NEVER going to live that down. Morrigan had pointed the wild vegetables out, left over from a garden left to ruin. Some of them were stringy, barely worth the bother of chucking them into the pot. But some had been quite acceptable if oddly shaped. Amry had lifted it up, wide eyed, and then swung to shake it at her companions, delicate green foliage waving everywhere. 'This is what a carrot looks like? WHY IS IT SO FLUFFY?! It's supposed to be solid, big strong roots and all, but it's so fucking fluffy!' Alistair had laughed himself sick, and both Morrigan and Sten had hid smiles. Leiliana, bless her, had looked at it with contemplation and offered 'It looks more frilly to me.'

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Enchantment!" Sandal proudly proclaimed. Amry nodded along, sitting by him and watching his face as he folded lyrium into Alistair's blade. Bodhan watched them from where he was quietly going over his accounts. He'd been a bit.. unsettled like, watching how she took a shine to his boy. It was good that they could travel under the Warden's presence. Sure, there were the occasional skirmishes over the hill, but he found that if they followed a good half hour behind, they generally stayed out of trouble, following in the wake of a very strange but very efficient group. Still, at least she wasn't looking at the lad with greedy eyes. His skill with Lyrium seemed secondary to her. But he couldn't quite divine her having any interest in Sandal in the way that lasses had interest in lads. Besides, he had a strong feeling that either the exotic elf or the sweet redhead had a claim on her. He still wasn't sure which of them was going to make a move first. 

"Hey Sandal?" she asked, and Sandal made a little muttering sound that meant he wasn't ready to look up from his work, but that he was kind of listening. 

"Do you have dreams?" she asked, and for some reason Bodhan felt the hairs go up right through his beard. Sandal looked up at her, eyes wider than usual in his smooth face. He shuffled close to her, and Amry ducked her head to listen as he whispered something in her ear. "I see," she said, solemnly nodding. "When that happens, you never say anything to them, and you wake up." 

"Enchantment," he said, and went back to his work while Amry propped her chin in her hands and looked thoughtful. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Zevran, you've been about in the world," Amry said lounging on her side as she squinted at notes she'd been scribbling during their journey.

"A fair amount, my fair Warden." Zevran acknowledged, rubbing oil into his gloves.

"Have you ever heard to a half-dwarf?" She asked, and Zevran raised an eyebrow.

"I have heard of many things, but a half-dwarf is not one of them," he mused. "Is this your way of trying to confess to a concerning side effect of a dalliance, perhaps?" Amry snorted and thumped her heel against his hip. 

"If a Warden and a dwarf managed to make a baby... I think the Maker would show up first." she snorted inelegantly. "I'm just curious about Sandal."

"Oh? And what is your little mind turning over furiously this time?" he asked, testing the stitching. 

"I don't think Sandal is full dwarf. I mean, dwarves have difficulty having children right? So WHY would they dump one in the Deeproads? Gotta hand it to Bodhan, he'd have figured out Sandal's got a book cover and no leaves years before he would have figured out that he's a savant. That's a good man there. But anyway, aside from that, he's got no beard at his age. None. AND, he dreams."

Zevran raised his eyebrow at her and she rolled her eyes. "Dwarves don't dream, Zev. They go to bed. They sleep. They wake up. No dreaming in between. But he does. I've never even heard of other dwarves being able to do that, and I have a pretty strong feeling he gets into the Fade while he's at it." 

"I admit, the idea is curious, but is there any answer to be had?" he asked, stowing the gloves and lounging.

"Nope." Amry turned and nuzzled into his chest happily. "I'm sure as hell not about to ask him or his dad. I just like to think about useless things."


End file.
